Of Rusty Parts and New Found Hearts
by KatyForReal
Summary: Set before any of the Fast movies. Just a short story of how Dom and Letty came to be . . . Well, Dom and Letty. READ IT.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, my ever present readers! I saw Fast 6 a few days ago, and in the movie, we *SPOILER ALERT* find out how Dom and Letty meet. And I thought, "Hey, why not get off your lazy butt and grasp this amazing story opportunity?" . . . I decided to take my own advice. Review and tell me what you think! I just might turn this into a multi-chapter story. **

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I shouted to the dumbass who decided to show off and almost get both him and myself killed.

I slammed my car door shut and stomped over to the kid. He looked to be around my age, with dark hair and brown eyes. No doubt he was from the lesser parts of LA, like me, or else he wouldn't be here, racing for money against a fifteen year old. He got out of his car, a '95 Volkswagon Jetta, and looked at the damage. He had a cut right under his left eye and was starting to bruise on his upper right arm. He's lucky I don't punch him, make that bruise a little bigger.

"Aw, man." he muttered, looking at his folded hood and rimless tire.

"Hey, mind telling me what you were thinking? Who drifts on a sidewalk?" I yelled at him.

This seemed to snap him out of it. He looked straight at me, his eyes boring into mine. They looked calm and some what unconcerned. That pissed me off. My arm had a stream of blood flowing from a cut the size of a heavy duty hair clip because of this jerk.

"Oh, uh, yeah. Heh, sorry 'bout that." he said lightly.

"Damn right, you're sorry! Chico, you could've gotten us both killed," I said menacingly at him.

"Calm down, it's nothing I can't fix." he said.

I looked at him again and finally noticed his undone button up shirt that had a local garage's logo on the top right corner.

"Well, Teretto," I said, reading the name sewn in curly letters under the logo on his shirt, "you better hope so. It's gonna take mine at least a month just to get it in shape again."

I surveyed the damage. My wind sheild was smashed in, one of my tires were gone, and one was blown out. The trunk was dented in various places, and my engine was most likely shot out by now. I eyed the kid from underneath my eyelashes.

"You work at a garage, kid?" I asked the boy who was now knealing next to his car, fidling with one of the screws on his rim.

"I head over there time to time," he said, standing up, "What's it to ya?"

I rolled my eyes.

"My tools are just about as shot as the hood of your '95," I said, "So I'm gonna need some more."

The kid looked at me. Either he was too stupid to realize what I was asking, or he was debating whether or not he should give me what I want. Finally, he croaked.

"Uh, yeah," he took a pen and pad out of his shirt pocket and wrote down an address.

I took the piece of paper and headed over to beat up car.

"Hey, you got a name?" the kid called out from behind me.

I turned.

"Of course." I said in a 'duh' tone.

With that, I got into my car and rattled down the street, cursing under breath the whole way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Here it is, peeps. Chapter 2. Hope you guys enjoy. Or not, that's totally up to you. **

2447, Havana Dr.

Paolo's Garage

That's where I'm headed. I could barely make out the crazy person hand writing, but I made it. I tucked my dog tags into my shirt and tightend my pony tail. I could hear renches clanging, drills buzzing, and parts being locked into place. Those were some of my favorite sounds.

"Ay, you're here," a voice called.

I looked over and saw the dumbass from last weekend. He was wearing a wife beater with his garage shirt unbuttoned, and a greasy rag hung from his pocket.

"Yeah, I'm here," I said to him, "You got a bench for me?"

He nodded and motioned for me to come inside.

Inside the garage, there were stacks upon stacks of tools in all four corners of the room. Men with shaven and tatooed heads were sweating in the summer heat while their muscles flexed as the put new engines in, cranked, and pounded the hoods shut. There was a little girl reading a book in a corner on a stool. She looked so out of place, but she seemed perfectly comfortable amung the mass of cholos.

"Dom, what I say 'bout bringin' yo girlfriends up in here?" a man called.

I looked at the boy next to me - Dom - and raised my eyebrows. He rolled his eyes and called back,

"What'd I say 'bout assumin' stuff you ain't know nothin' about?"

I akwardly steped over to an open bench.

"Cool if I work here?" I asked, not really caring if he said yes or no.

"Uh, sure," Dom said, "You sure you can fix that kind of damage by yourself?"

"You don't think I can?" I challenged him.

He raised his hands and backed off. Smart choice.

I drove my car onto the crank and got to work.

After a few hours of pounding, cranking, and replacing some parts, my engine was starting to sound normal again, and my tires had air and rims. When I came up for air, I noticed an older guy watching me, a certain glint in his eye.

He must've noticed my noticing him, because he started to walk over to me.

"You seem to know your way in and around the throttle,_ mija. _What's your name?" he asked me.

"Letty. Uh, Leticia Ortiz?" it came out as more of a question.

I stepped aside while he examined my work.

"Ortiz, huh?" he asked, _"¿Quién te enseñó a hacer esto?"_

_"Mi hermano."_ I responded to his mumbled question in spanish.

The man looked up. He gave me a small smile.

"Javier Ortiz?," I wasn't surprised he knew my brother, almost everyone did, "He did a good job with you."

I gave a slight nod.

"_Mijo,_" he called to Dom, who was working with another guy on a '97 Chevy, "you keep her around."

Dom smirked at me and went back to work. I turned back to the man.

"How much for today?" I asked, going into my car to unlock my glove box.

_"Nada."_

I looked at him.

"Really?" I asked in surprise.

Can you blame me? Downtown LA tends to not have generous people claiming the streets.

"Letty, you worked on your own car. The chicos and I didn't lift a finger. And I think Dom owed this one to you." he said, looking pointedly at his son, who was totally oblivious as he placed a new engine into the Chevy.

"Thanks. . ." I dragged off.

"Paolo Teretto."

Ah, so Dom's dad owned the garage. Man, that sounds like a good life.

Paolo patted the roof of my car and the others made room for me to leave.

As I pulled out, I noticed Dom in my mirror, his arms crossed and his head tilted back, an impressed look on his face. Him letting me come work at his family buisness doesn't really make up for him totaling my car, but it's a start.

**BAM! How you like them engines? I'm learning so much about cars as I write this, it's not even funny. Yeah, so review and tell me what you guys think should happen so that I can make you guys somewhat pleased with this story. PEACE OUT, CUBSCOUTS.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hola, you little grime balls. What's kickin'? Usually, I update almost everyother day, but my laptop is sorta compromised right now due to me moving to California . . . again. So, yes. Anyways, enjoy this next chapter and don't come looking for me if it's a while before the next one.**

"Back so soon, Letty? _Miss me?"_

"Don't you wish," I said to Dom as he helped me manouver my car onto the crank.

"Let, you've been working on this thing for a month straight. Won't stop 'till it runs like new?" he asked.

I looked at him. Usually, Dom doesn't ask about why or how many times I come to his garage. He just nods and lets me do my thing. What gives?

"Why? Am I takin' up too much of your turf?"

"Nah, I'm just impressed." he answered, shrugging his shoulders and handing me a wrench. He had a look on his face, like he was half smiling, half smirking.

I nodded at him, tucked my dog tags into my shirt, and pulled out a bench. After dodging the cops for the third time this week, I was almost begging to get working on a car, an engine, _something._ Being an underage driver isn't exactly easy. And having just turned fifteen a few months ago, I tend to get weird looks on the street when I pull by.

After about twenty minutes, all the workers at the garage went on their lunch break, leaving me and Dom alone with the cars.

"So, what's with the tags?" Dom asked over an engine.

"Huh?"

"Your dog tags, the ones you wear all the time."

Oh, those.

"Uh, they're my brother's. Javier dropped out of high school then joined the Marines. Came back, picked up were he left off; street racing 'till morning. But uh, one morning, he didn't come back." I said, shrugging my shoulders like it was no big deal. When really, it gave me this sick feeling in my stomach just thinking about it.

"What happened?" he asked.

"I dunno," I said, focusing on the injectors in my car, "he wasn't alert or something, and flipped. Car caught on fire, and he took I think, five people down wth him."

"What, did he inspire you to race or something?" Dom asked. I can practically hear his eyebrows raising.

I had to think about that one. I only just started racing, and Javier was no part of that decision.

"It's a cool feeling. Adrenaline and all. It's like, I can do something other people can't, like almost dying by the car of a _stupido," _I rolled out and looked straight at Dom, who had jutted out his jaw and went back to working on his engine.

"Ride or die."

Dom looked at me.

"What?" he asked me.

"That's why I race. It's the one place where you're life's on the line and it's all about your next move. Break, and that's the end. And I sure as hell ain't lettin' it end. Ride or die." I said.

Dom smiled.

"I think that just may be my new favorite saying." he said, "hey, whaddya say 'bout a rematch?"

I stood up and faced him.

"When and where?"

**THAT'S RIGHT, LOSERS. I'M LEAVING YOU FOAMING AT THE MOUTH IN SUSPENSE. . . Please don't hate me.. Cool, so review and stuff like that.**


	4. Chapter 4

Yeah, I'm not gonna write this story anymore . . . sorry 'bout that. But, hey, if any of you want to plagiarise this thing that BY ALL MEANS. TAKE IT. But let everyone know how awesome I am for beginning it, yeah? So we all agree. Great. See you never my little grime balls!

-Kaitlyn


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